we all bear scars from battles fought
by onnagakusei
Summary: Bilbo Baggins has never seen a battlefield. He's the only member of the Company who can't handle at least one weapon. The dwarves think he's a soft, naive gentlehobbit. But Bilbo has been fighting an invisible war for most of his life. Sometimes we are our own worst enemies, after all.
1. Chapter 1

He really should have thought it through. This all could have been avoided if he'd just been more careful, maybe claimed he was body shy or something. But the last few weeks of journeying had been especially taxing, and when the company finally came across a gentle section of river, Bilbo simply couldn't wait to get clean.

He shucked his clothes and waded determinedly into the frigid water. The dwarves quickly followed suit, and Bilbo smirked a bit to himself when Ori squeaked at the chill. The rest of the dwarves were probably just better at the whole stoic silence thing, Bilbo thought as he scrubbed away the dirt. Hardened warriors likely weren't allowed to yelp when cold water lapped at their more delicate bits. Bilbo held in a snort at the mental picture of Dwalin doing just that.

"Well now, what's this?"

Startled out of his musings, Bilbo looked up to see Bofur grinning at him, bafflingly still wearing his hat. Bilbo raised his eyebrows slightly and opened his mouth. Then he froze when he saw where Bofur was looking.

"I thought you said you'd never seen battle, Master Baggins!" Bofur continued loudly, drawing curious looks from the other dwarves. "And here you're sporting some lovely battle scars!"

"Erm, no – " Bilbo attempted, instinctively bringing his arms closer to himself.

"Battle scars?"

At Kili's eager voice, Bilbo's heart sank. There was no way out of this now. He tried to casually cross his arms, wishing he'd waded in deeper than his waist.

Kili sloshed over, splashing water into several dwarves' faces on his way. "Where? What from? Was there an orc attack in the Shire?" He ran his eyes over Bilbo, obviously excited at the prospect of a heroic story.

Bilbo's eyes darted around, hoping for help—or an escape route—only to find the company drifting closer with mild curiosity. Though not particularly embarrassed by their gazes searching his naked torso, given the circumstances Bilbo wanted to be anywhere but at the center of attention. He took a step back, looking from Fili's raised eyebrows to Nori's keenly assessing eyes.

"Um – "

"Did I hear something about battle scars? On our Master Baggins?" Balin asked.

"Not, ah – "

"What's this, then?" Oin grumped, having left his ear horn on the riverbank. "What's going on?"

Kili, trying to subtly eye the underwater parts of Bilbo, exclaimed: "Bilbo's been in a great battle!"

Bofur nodded enthusiastically, looking proud of his wee friend.

But Bilbo continued to inch back from the growing crowd before him, arms still hugging his chest. "It – no, I really – "

"Leave him be, you meddlesome rabble!" Thorin's voice rang out with annoyed authority. Bilbo could have kissed him. (He made a mental note to revisit that urge later, because _what_.) But then, of course, Thorin continued talking. "The closest thing to a battle our burglar has seen is likely a brawl between cats in the yard," Thorin sniped. Unnecessarily dismissive, as usual.

Still, Bilbo let out a breath when the dwarves reluctantly wandered away again. He ignored the pouting glances Kili kept throwing over his shoulder. Bofur cast a confused look his way, but Bilbo refused to meet his eyes. Instead he turned his back and resumed his bath with doubled efforts. Suddenly he couldn't wait to get back into his grimy clothes.


	2. Chapter 2

Bilbo couldn't breathe properly until he finished straightening the cuffs of his red jacket.

He'd finished his bath in record time, trying and failing to slow his shallow breaths. A heavy weight pinched his chest. He kept an eye out for approaching dwarves, though their bickering and splashing mostly covered up the sound of his ragged pants. Just as Bombur started to sidle over as inconspicuously as the huge dwarf could manage, Bilbo quickly retreated to the shore, snatching up his bundle of clothes and speed-walking a short distance into the woods.

He almost ripped his undershirt in his haste to pull it over his head. Then his white (well, more brown-ish now) button-up, but the long sleeves did little to relieve his chest pain. His weskit and jacket soon followed, the familiar weight reassuring Bilbo. His lungs eased with every button buttoned.

After a few deep breaths, Bilbo felt ridiculous. For one thing, he realized with a jolt, he was fully dressed on top and absolutely butt-naked on the bottom.

"Idiot," he muttered, cheeks burning, as he pulled on his underwear and trousers. _You can't even get dressed properly_, whispered a voice in his head. He didn't dare turn his head to look at the Company. From the sounds of it the dwarves were still cheerfully washing, so with any luck none had noticed his unbalanced outfit.

Then Bilbo realized he hadn't put his braces on over the button-up.

"Oh, for the love of Yavanna – " he growled, kicking at a clump of dirt. It fell apart limply. _You can't do anything right_. Bilbo lashed out again, heel smacking against a tree trunk with a resounding thump. The impact jarred his bones, and he drew back for another kick.

"Is now a bad time?"

Bilbo whirled, almost losing his balance. Ori stood in only his trousers, reaching forward to steady him, but Bilbo flinched back. He tried to disguise it as regaining his balance, but Ori's slight frown meant he didn't quite manage it. _You've hurt his feelings. _

"Er – no, not especially… I'm sorry you had to see that," Bilbo gestured towards the abused tree, slightly pink. Why had Ori clearly rushed out of his bath as well?

The dwarf blinked at the tree, nodding slowly. Then he whipped out a journal from Yavanna knows where. "Is that how hobbits fight, then? With their feet?"

"…What?"

"You do seem to have very tough soles," Ori mused, flipping the book open to an empty page, "and since you don't use weapons, that points to a hand-to-hand combat style – "

"Ori, what in the – hobbits don't fight!"

The scribe ignored his protest, plucking a pen from somewhere in his hair and starting to scribble. "And you've got scars, so you don't wear armor while you fight – "

Bilbo sagged. So that's what this was about. He'd been stupid to think he'd get more of a respite. _So naïve_, snickered the voice.

"So can you start by describing hobbit warrior training, and we can lead up to the battle?" Ori finally paused and looked up expectantly, pen poised.

"Ori…" Bilbo sighed. "There was no battle, and there certainly aren't any hobbit warriors."

Ori's eyes widened in confusion. "But… But Kili was saying…"

"Oh come now," Bilbo tried for a smile, "you know not to believe everything that rascal says."

The gullible dwarf looked away, embarrassed. "Oh."

In the awkward silence between them Bilbo registered the rest of the dwarves meandering back to the camp. Before he could think of something to say, Ori asked almost accusingly:

"Well, what about your scars? Bofur definitely saw those."

Bilbo blanched. "Old accident. I'd better go help Bombur with dinner, so if you'll just excuse me…" And with that he hurried away. But he couldn't help but feel like every step towards camp was a step closer to more questions from well-meaning dwarves.

How much longer could he keep his secret?


	3. Chapter 3

Cradling his bowl of stew, Bilbo waited for the momentary peace to shatter. Night hung around him like a blanket on his shoulders. The crackling fire and familiar murmurs of the Company did nothing to relax his tense frame.

As expected, Bofur plopped down to the ground next to him. "Sorry if I offended you, lad," he said with his usual lack of subtlety.

"It's fine, Bofur, really." Bilbo looked away from Bofur's serious gaze, only to see Thorin staring at them from across the camp. _He's suspicious. _The hobbit colored slightly and focused instead on the fire. "Don't worry about it."

Bofur hmmed. "You don't seem fine," he noted.

Bilbo said nothing.

"Listen," Bofur tried again, "you know you can tell me anything, right? If you want, that is."

Staring into the flames, Bilbo considered it. Bofur had always shown him kindness. Surely he wouldn't treat Bilbo too differently if he knew the truth.

_Are you sure about that?_ snickered the voice. _Once he knows, everyone will know. Thorin will be so disappointed. _

In the end Bilbo just shrugged. He let the silence grow between them. Felt it seeping into his bones, a gray exhaustion he knew all too well.

Bofur watched him for a while, trying to be sneaky about it. Thankfully, he let it go for now, switching topics.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I woke up under a living room table, cuddling a roast pig and covered in toffee?"

* * *

The next day, Bilbo trudged along towards the rear of the Company. A few dwarves at first tried to coax him into joining their conversations, but let him be when he only grunted distractedly.

The memories were walking beside him today. Flickers of the past twined about his legs and blurred his vision. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other and ignored the phantom itching in his arms.

At one point he stumbled, falling sideways into something solid. Bilbo looked up in surprise to see Bifur steadily looking back. "Sorry," Bilbo muttered and kept walking.

The grizzled dwarf stayed at his side, keeping pace companionably. After a minute, he said something in Khuzdul, then raised a fist and waited. When Bilbo only looked from the fist to Bifur's face, the dwarf huffed and shoved his hand right under Bilbo's nose.

Bilbo examined the meaty fingers, noting an impressive amount of scarring along the knuckles. "Big fan of punching people, are you?" he asked, not really clear on what he was supposed to do.

Bifur shook his head. He pointed at a boulder they were passing.

"You punch rocks?"

A nod.

"Why? Is that a dwarf thing?" Bilbo asked. "For training?"

Another shake of the head. Bifur frowned, growling something under his breath. He pulled out a small knife and stooped to grab a stick. The dwarf shaved off a few curls of wood, then gestured to the axe embedded in his forehead and made his hands tremble violently, dropping the stick.

Remembering what Bofur had mentioned about his cousin's craft, Bilbo guessed: "You… couldn't make toys anymore, after the, uh, accident?"

Bifur pointed the knife at Bilbo, nodding encouragingly.

Bilbo thought about what that had to do with punching. Hobbits didn't really punch things, in fact it'd really cause a stir in the Shire to hear that so-and-so was seen with swollen knuckles, but he supposed dwarves were much more physical. Especially when they got upset…

Oh.

_A dwarf's craft is their life_, Bofur had said. _Their pride and joy. Their sense of self. _What happens when they lose their greatest passion?

Bilbo thought of that fateful day when everything had changed for him. He slowly hazarded another guess, hoping he was wrong. "You couldn't make toys, and you took that out on the walls?"

Bifur just stared ahead, gaze far away. Bilbo glanced down to study Bifur's hand more carefully. He wondered how many times a dwarf would have to punch stone to get scars like that. Day after day, month by month.

"Did it hurt a lot?" Bilbo asked quietly.

The dwarf slowly turned his gaze back to Bilbo, a weary sadness in his eyes. Then Bifur smiled, just a little bit, and nodded.

And Bilbo understood.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oin?" Bilbo dropped down next to the healer at camp that night. The hobbit had spent the rest of the day's march mulling over Bifur's mimed memories.

"Eh?" The dwarf glanced at him. Thankfully he had his ear horn nearby, holding it up now. "Master Baggins, what is it you need this evening?"

"Well, I, uh." Bilbo realized he probably could have planned this out a little better. "I just wanted to know more about dwarvish healing," he replied quickly.

Oin grunted. "That's a pretty wide field you're asking about. Anything in particular interest you?"

Bilbo hesitated too long trying to figure out how to proceed, and Oin plowed ahead without prompting.

"Now, any dwarf healer can cover all necessary procedures – it's a wartime necessity, you understand – but I myself am especially skilled in amputations. Though there was this one nasty time I remember – "

"Small injuries!" Bilbo blurted desperately, slightly green.

"Small?" Oin repeated, repositioning his ear horn.

"Yes, small injuries. I was just wondering – not that I don't admire your work with the more life-threatening wounds, of course," here he attempted a chuckle, "but what do dwarves do for everyday bumps, bruises… cuts?" He trailed off, watching Oin's face wrinkle a bit more than usual.

"Well, I suppose they take care of those themselves," he answered. "Dwarves are sturdy. A bruise or two never hurt anyone."

Bilbo nodded, trying another track though he was sure he'd regret it. "What would you consider to be a major injury, something worth medical attention?"

"Oh, broken bones, dislocations, lacerations, stab wounds…"

"Do you see lacerations much?" Bilbo hurriedly asked.

The dwarf's brow furrowed, clearly not understanding why Bilbo was so interested. He didn't press, though, just replied, "In wartime, certainly. Otherwise, no. We have tough skin, and training doesn't usually escalate to where a dwarf is needing stitches."

Bombur called that dinner was ready, though Oin didn't seem to hear it. Bilbo decided to wrap things up. "One more question, Oin, if you don't mind. What about bloody knuckles, from, you know, training?"

Oin shook his head, giving up on figuring out Bilbo's motives. "It'd take a lot to bloody a dwarf's knuckles enough to worry," he said. "But like I told you, Master Baggins, dwarves tend to take care of the minor injuries themselves. Swollen knuckles are hardly uncommon."

Bilbo nodded slowly. "I see. Well, thank you for indulging me. I believe dinner is ready, don't let me keep you any more."

The dwarf hustled off with barely a returning nod, but Bilbo sat quietly, ignoring his stomach. He plucked absentmindedly at one of his cuffs, thinking about proper hobbit wardrobes.

"I suppose," he murmured to himself, "you find how best to hide in plain sight." His own wounds had always been easy enough to conceal. Hobbits weren't ashamed of their bodies, but neither was it suspicious when Bilbo took to wearing long sleeves all year round. A gentlehobbit like himself could wear crisp button-downs in the middle of summer, and everyone would just assume it was a finicky mannerism.

Bifur hadn't hidden his injuries quite as literally, and Bilbo wondered if anyone had ever asked why the dwarf seemed to be having so many fights.

Bilbo wondered what it'd be like to be asked if something was wrong.

He shook himself briskly. No point in reminiscing about the past. He looked up – directly into the dark eyes of Thorin Oakenshield, once again watching him from a distance. Bilbo swallowed, heart thumping faster when the imposing dwarf started to step towards him.

"Bilbo!" Kili thumped down at the hobbit's side.

"Bilbo," Fili greeted more sedately but with a friendly grin. He sat on Bilbo's other side and handed him a bowl.

Bilbo looked back and forth between the smiling brothers. "Kili, Fili," he said warily. Glancing back up he saw Thorin deep in conversation with Dori. _You really thought he wanted to talk to you?_ the voice mocked.

Trying to ignore it despite the sinking in his chest, Bilbo focused on his food. Maybe if he ignored the boys they'd go away, he thought childishly.

No such luck. Fili nudged his shoulder. "We were hoping you'd tell us a hobbit tale."

"Oh?" That sounded harmless. He'd told the boys several folktales already.

Kili leaned into Bilbo's space. "Yes! About your battle!"

Yavanna save him.


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo managed to fend off Fili and Kili's not-so-subtle probing for a night or two, and then they were in the mountains. Though Bilbo was hardly relieved at this turn of events – the poor hobbit could barely get a word out through his chattering teeth – at least the brothers conserved their energy for trudging ever wearily onwards.

And all of a sudden they were walking across pissed off stone giants.

As he clung to the giant's leg, dizzy and terrified, Bilbo heard a voice mutter darkly, _This is what you get for thinking you could do this. You'll die cold, far from home. It's just what you deserve._

When Bilbo slipped, his instincts took over and he grabbed wildly for a handhold. He hung from the cliff, wide eyes staring up into the stormy skies. Thunderous crashes shook the very air but Bilbo heard the whisper clearly: _Just let go. It will all be over soon. _

But then Ori and Bofur were straining to reach him, and their yells awoke his will to survive. And it was Thorin, of all people, who swung down to push him up onto safer ground. Had the dwarf king changed his mind? Did he value Bilbo as a part of the Company? Bilbo breathed hard, trying to pull himself together enough to thank Thorin for saving him. He doesn't get a chance.

"He's been lost ever since he left home." Thorin's angry words struck ice into Bilbo's heart. "He should never have come. He has no place amongst us."

And the world was right again.

* * *

The cave wasn't particularly large, but Bilbo was wedged into a back corner away from the rest of the dwarves. He couldn't take any more of their looks – some pitying, some sympathetic. Needing to be useful, he'd helped chop up some ingredients for stew, eating his portion without tasting it. Then he sat quietly as the Company settled in for the night, not really feeling the chill anymore. His limbs felt numb and his head was mercifully clear.

When murmured discussions turned into snores, Bilbo reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a small cooking knife.

It had been over a year since the last time. He'd been doing so well – or at least, he'd been managing. He'd worked hard to rediscover the joys of sunshine, flowers, food. Tried to keep busy. The cruel voice in his head didn't fade, but Bilbo accepted it and yet kept his knives in the kitchen, his scissors in his sewing kit. He'd been okay.

_And then you were foolish enough to go on an adventure_, the voice reminded him almost gently. It didn't need to push anymore. Bilbo knew what he had to do.

He peered around a jutting bit of rock. Bofur, recognizable by his hatted silhouette, sat at watch in the entrance, not paying attention to the cave behind him. Bilbo carefully shed his jacket and rolled up his left shirt sleeve. He breathed evenly, perfectly calm, though his heart was pounding strangely. It was too dark to see any wimpy scratches, he reminded himself. They'd have to be nice and deep.

Bilbo set the edge of the knife to his forearm, right in the middle where the scars were the thickest. He wanted to make this first stroke count.

A breath in.

But just as he started pressing down, he registered a flicker of movement, and he reluctantly glanced up. Right into the gleam of familiar eyes.

Thorin.

Bilbo's stomach dropped. And then the floor followed suit.


	6. Chapter 6

There was no time for anything but action in the goblin caves. Bilbo was the only one not imprisoned by the horrible creatures, and he didn't stop to worry about how much Thorin had seen in the darkness of the cave. Nor did he stop to contemplate the insanity of one little hobbit going against an army of goblins, when the Company of hardy dwarves couldn't escape. If the usual voice mocked his hope for their survival, he didn't notice it.

Not that he'd suddenly found unshakeable confidence – no, Bilbo fought to keep his voice steady as he traded riddles and wordplay with Gollum, hand fiddling with the bright ring in his pocket. But he won the game, and for a moment he enjoyed the unfamiliar glow of satisfaction. When the enraged creature rushed Bilbo, the hobbit ran out of fear but also with a fierce determination that surprised him.

* * *

What didn't surprise him was Thorin's reaction to his absence. "He is long gone," the dwarf ended his predictable rant (honestly, did he schedule them or something?).

Still, it hurt that Thorin thought Bilbo would abandon them. He may not be particularly useful, but he was loyal.

"No," Bilbo said, slipping off the ring. "He isn't." Bilbo rather enjoyed the look on Thorin's face. The Company seemed happy to see him, and Bilbo was glad Gandalf didn't press for an explanation.

But his heart skipped a beat when Thorin insisted: "It matters. I want to know." There was a long, tense moment as the hobbit and the dwarf king locked gazes.

Was he talking about..? He wouldn't bring that up now, surely?

"Why did you come back?"

Bilbo stilled, partly relieved and partly… annoyed. He'd liked the feeling of success, of accomplishment, and before he realized it Bilbo was defending himself. He rambled a bit about doubt and Bag End and homes, and judging by how Thorin looked away guiltily, he'd managed quite the speech. What was with this newfound self-confidence?

Of course they had to start running again immediately, before Bilbo was done basking in the afterglow of stunning Thorin Oakenshield into silence.

* * *

Smoke filled his mouth. Flames flickered in the corners of his eyes. Bilbo watched Ori's mouth moving as he clung to Dori's feet. The hobbit couldn't hear a thing.

The world had slowed down and quietened with Thorin's first step towards Azog.

Bilbo flinched with every purposeful stride. Don't, he wanted to say, a bit hysterical. Thorin, don't. Just fall to your death like the rest of us, it'll be a great bonding experience.

But he could only watch. As Thorin started to run, Bilbo dimly noted intense music playing in his head. Of all times to go insane, now was… actually pretty good timing.

And then the idiot dwarf king was on the ground. He stubbornly rose but didn't stay up again for long.

Sound came thundering back to Bilbo as Thorin was busy playing chewtoy. Something fell into place at Thorin's screams, and the hobbit stood. Gathering his newfound confidence, as well as the insanity, Bilbo sprinted towards his end.

He'll never be sure what happened next. It gets hazy. But he does remember the sound of his letter-opener stabbing through orc flesh, and he remembers stumbling to stand before Thorin's limb body.

What an excellent way to die, he thought.

He'll wistfully recall that moment later, as he stands on a rock staring down a yelling dwarf king.


	7. Chapter 7

"What were you doing?" Thorin barked at Bilbo. The hobbit's pride at his accomplishments in the caves instantly evaporated. "You nearly got yourself killed." Thorin stepped forward threateningly, glare intensifying. Bilbo didn't like the hard look on his face.

The dwarf lowered his voice, which only made things worse. "Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?"

Every word cut into Bilbo, but he could only stare back in pain. So this was it. Bilbo's best would never be enough.

But Thorin's face changed, softening into something unrecognizable. He whispered hoarsely, "I have never been so wrong in all my life."

Bilbo blinked, trying to handle the emotional whiplash, and at first barely noticed when Thorin's arms wrapped around him gently. The dwarves cheering in the background, he hesitantly hugged back. Then it hit him, that he almost watched Thorin die, and his grasp tightened.

"Tell me," Thorin murmured, reluctantly letting go of Bilbo to meet his eyes. "Tell me you didn't, you weren't…" Bilbo didn't notice silence falling as Thorin forced out the words. "Tell me you weren't trying to die."

Bilbo gaped. "I – what?" He glanced at the Company and panicked when he realized he still had everyone's attention. "No more than you were," he tried to make light of the situation. "What were you thinking, anyway – "

He shushed when Thorin's hand cupped the back of his neck. "I was foolish," the dwarf admitted. "But you don't even know how to use a sword, and you just – " he broke off, resorting to glaring again. "You cannot sacrifice yourself like that. I will not let you."

"I don't understand what you – "

"You know exactly what I mean," Thorin interrupted quietly. "You are worth more than you seem to believe, Master Baggins. I am sorry I doubted you and drove you to… what you were about to do – "

"Uncle," Kili jumped into what really shouldn't be a public conversation, "what are you talking about?"

Thorin started, turning to see his Company looking from him to Bilbo in curiosity and no small amount of trepidation. He breathed out a Khuzdul swear and looked back, almost frightened, to Bilbo.

Bofur broke the tense silence. "What's going on, lad? Did he do something to you?" the hatted dwarf growled, eyeing Thorin. Bombur grabbed his arm as Bofur started to step forward.

"No," Bilbo said hurriedly, waving his hands, "no, it's fine, nothing happened."

The Company muttered amongst themselves, not convinced. Fili started inching his way closer to the two (though he wasn't sure whom he planned to protect).

Thorin mumbled in a not-very-kingly manner, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to – "

"It's okay," Bilbo cut him off. "Look, everyone, I'm fine, it's all fine."

"Then what's he talking about, driving you to – something?" It was Gloin, surprisingly, who spoke up next. Though maybe not so surprising, as he tended to assume the role of papa bear when necessary.

"Uncle?" Kili asked quietly, his young face uncertain.

Thorin couldn't meet his nephew's eyes – the king had already slipped up by mentioning the incident, but he knew he had no right to explain to the others.

But Bilbo couldn't bear to see anyone's opinion of Thorin lowered because of this. He spoke without thinking: "I will tell you." He paused a moment, breathing through the weight of that decision. "I will explain. But, not right now. Shouldn't we be finding shelter, food, tending to our injuries?"

Gandalf, who'd been helpfully silent through this uncomfortable exchange, finally deigned to participate. "He's right, of course. I know of someone near here who may give us shelter for the night. We can make it by evening."

Bilbo jumped at the chance to escape the oppressive atmosphere. Clapping his hands together, he took a few steps away from Thorin. "Alright, then, let's be off, shall we?"

A few grumbles and many narrowed gazes later, the Company began to head down from the rock. Bilbo hurried after Oin, knowing he was one dwarf who wouldn't ask him any questions.

He missed Thorin watching him go.

* * *

Bilbo could barely put one foot in front of the other. If he'd been able to string thoughts together, he'd have figured the adrenaline had drained out and left him exhausted. And he'd have been partly right: his muscles ached with a bonedeep fierceness, and a few shallow cuts stung when he moved.

Worse, however, was his mental state.

Any remnants of confidence or determination had fled. Bilbo couldn't remember what it'd felt like to be proud of himself, the warmth seeming like a dream quickly fading from memory. Instead, he blearily trod onwards through a dense fog of nothingness. He didn't feel cold or hungry at all – just tired. So very tired.

Bofur walked next to Bilbo, watching him worriedly. The hobbit's usually expressive face was completely blank. Though his eyes were fixed on the ground, he didn't seem to be paying attention to where he was going. A few times Bofur had to gently take Bilbo by the arm, steering him around a boulder or a hole. But though Bilbo never resisted, he was starting to slow down, his steps drifting to a shuffle.

Finally Bofur halted, taking Bilbo by a shoulder to stop him too. The dwarf waited for a sign of awareness, but Bilbo just stood staring at the ground.

"Dori," Bofur called.

Kili stepped forward and sank to his haunches before Bilbo. "Mr. Boggins?" he tried, making his tone lighthearted with some effort. "Bilbo?"

Fili put a hand on his brother's shoulder, solemnly examining their burglar. "Kili," he started, then didn't know what to say.

Thorin hurried back, unable to keep his distance any longer. "What's going on?" he demanded, eyes on Bilbo. "Bilbo? Can you walk? I can – "

"You can go back to the front of the line," Bofur snapped. He matched Thorin's glare with one of his own. "We're taking care of him."

Dori pushed through the small group now huddled around the hobbit. He took in the scene and immediately scooped Bilbo up in his arms. "Barely weighs a thing," he said. "We'll get you somewhere nice and warm soon, Mr. Baggins, where we can feed you up a bit."

Bilbo just closed his eyes and let the world drift away.

* * *

He woke to warmth. Opening his eyes, he blinked a few times in the bright light of the fire. A giant chair stood to one side of the fireplace. A house? he wondered, not sure how he'd gotten there. He sat up in his straw bed, looking around to find the Company scattered around the huge room, swinging their feet from tall benches or dozing off in a corner.

"Bilbo!"

Bofur scrambled up from his bench, and the entire Company came to full alert. Heads turned in his direction and Bilbo was once again uncomfortably in the spotlight.

"How are you feeling?" Bofur asked, plopping down by Bilbo.

"Um, fine," Bilbo answered, breaking off into a yawn. "Bit sore. When did we get here?"

"Last night," Bofur said. His eyes searched Bilbo's face. "You slept all day."

Bilbo frowned, glancing over to count the rest of the Company. All accounted for, and all watching him carefully. "Then, _how_ did we get here? Only I don't…" he trailed off.

"You…" Bofur hesitated. "You sort of went away for a bit, there."

Before Bilbo could try and formulate a response, Kili knelt on his other side and pulled him into a tight hug. "I'm glad you're back, Mr. Boggins," he said, voice muffled.

Bilbo patted his back. "It's alright, Kili," he soothed automatically, hiding his own worry and confusion.

"Promise you won't go away again?"

Bilbo didn't know what to say to that either. He looked over Kili's shoulder at the rest of the dwarves, a little overwhelmed, but they all seemed to be waiting for an answer.

Thankfully, Thorin stepped in, once again his savior from awkward attention. "Give him some space," he commanded the room at large. "He only just woke up." The dwarves grumbled, as they are wont to do, but made a show of turning back to their own business. Even if they did keep glancing back at Bilbo now and again, just to check.

Bilbo caught Thorin's eye and nodded his thanks. Thorin slowly inclined his head back, making the motion seem more like a bow. Bilbo looked away first.

Kili released Bilbo as Fili approached with a bowl. "You should eat," Fili said with an easy smile. "I don't think hobbits can go a whole day without food."

"I wouldn't want to, that's for certain," Bilbo smiled back, accepting the bowl of soup.

Kili bounced up. "I'll get you some bread."

"And I'll get you something to drink," Fili added, the two of them scurrying off.

Bilbo watched them go, bemused, before turning his attention to his food.

"They worried," Bofur explained. "We all did."

"No need for that," Bilbo said uncomfortably. "I'm – "

"Don't you say you're fine," Bofur cut in with a fierceness that startled Bilbo. "You're not," he added more gently. "And we want to help, if you'll let us."

Bilbo stared into his bowl. "I don't know how you can help," he admitted.

Bofur patted his knee. "You start by telling us what's wrong," he said, "and we can work something out from there." He settled back into the straw with an exaggerated sigh. "But right now you eat. Can't have our hobbit running on an empty stomach." He winked at Bilbo.

Bilbo smiled back a little absentmindedly, mulling over Bofur's words. He didn't like the idea of sharing his secret with anyone, let alone an entire party of dwarves – tough warriors who had survived much worse than Bilbo. But then again…

Bilbo looked around the room at the Company. _His_ Company. He smiled to see Dori fussing over Ori's hair, and Balin rolling his eyes while Dwalin and Nori engaged in a glaring contest. Fili and Kili jostled each other as they headed back to Bilbo's corner, and Thorin pretended he wasn't watching Bilbo out of the corner of his eye.

Maybe Bilbo wasn't putting his burden onto this new family – no, they were asking to share the load. Maybe this really would work out. Maybe things would be okay.


	8. Chapter 8

This was a terrible idea.

Bilbo sat on his pile of hay, nervously looking around as the Company settled in a big half-circle before him, dragging benches over or sitting on the floor. Bofur looked worried. Thorin looked apprehensive. The rest either looked like a mix between the two or were keeping their faces carefully expressionless. Oin already had his ear horn out, and Fili and Kili sat totally still, which clearly meant they were all taking this seriously.

Bilbo frowned as a thought occurred to him rather late. "Where's Gandalf?"

Gloin shrugged and answered, "Out." No one else seemed inclined to elaborate, or maybe they didn't know. Bilbo was relieved, anyway. The wizard's presence would have been too much. Thirteen expectant dwarves were more than enough already.

Speaking of which, Bilbo eyed Thorin as he fidgeted on his bench. The dwarf looked ready to get up, but remained seated after a pointed look from Balin. The Durin boys seemed to be holding themselves back, too. Everyone was giving Bilbo space, but somehow he felt even more claustrophobic. The room grew quiet enough for Bilbo to hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Finally he couldn't delay any longer.

"It started when my parents died."

* * *

Rain dripped down Bilbo's blank face as he stared at the gravestones. Someone – the gaffer? – patted his shoulder one more time before turning to go. But Bilbo couldn't leave just yet: walking away would make it real. So he stood in the mud and waited. Later he would hate himself for not being able to cry.

* * *

"I didn't take it well."

* * *

He found himself sitting on the floor of his parents' bedroom. His clothes were dry. Was the funeral today? He wasn't sure. When had he last eaten? It didn't matter. He leaned his head against the bedframe and closed his eyes again. The world drifted away without him.

* * *

"Sort of… shut down. I still don't know how I got back home that day."

* * *

The empty smial mocked him with its silence. Sometimes his mother's bright laugh rang in his ears and he'd go running through room after room, hoping to find her, only to collapse with exhaustion. When he could barely stand up, his father's patient voice would convince him to put some food in his mouth – just enough to keep going for a little while longer. Mostly Bilbo sat and waited, not sure what he was waiting for. He ignored knocks at the door. Pretended he couldn't hear concerned neighbors calling his name. They stopped coming eventually (he didn't keep track of the days).

* * *

"I hadn't ever been that alone before. We used to have parties, even louder than when you all barged in." Bilbo smiled a little in recollection. "And my mother would sing when she was happy, which was almost always. Or my father would tell stories. I remember…" he trailed off, then shook himself out of his daydreams. It was time to get to the point.

* * *

One day Bilbo took out his mother's favorite tea set. Dusted it off. Arranged three places on the table. Even set out some scones – not noticing that they were rock hard. Then he picked up the delicate teapot that she had handled so carefully. Before he knew it, the teapot was in pieces on the floor. Next he threw the cream jar, and the sugar pot, the shattering china stirring some dark emotion within him, and then he was crying. Bilbo sank down, all the pent up tears coming out at once. He choked through the intense pain in his chest and gasped in shaky breaths, sobbing them back out.

* * *

"And that's when it first happened." Bilbo's voice shook. The dwarves remained quiet and Bilbo kept his eyes on the ground, not sure he'd finish if he saw their expressions. But then someone sat down next to him, and he looked up to see Bifur looking calmly back. Bilbo took a few more deep breaths, appreciating the wordless support, and continued.

* * *

As his breathing began to ease, slowly he registered a sharp burn in his calf. Blood trickled from a cut on his leg. _Maybe I shouldn't have sat myself down in the midst of broken china_, Bilbo thought faintly, holding in a hysterical giggle. He watched his hand move as if from far away, reaching down to pick up a jagged piece of teapot. He looked at it for awhile, his mind suddenly calm. Then he held the broken china to his forearm, and took a steady breath.

* * *

If possible, the company was even quieter now. Tension filled the air as Bilbo spoke to the floor. "It sounds mad, but – it helped. Or, I thought it did. Physical pain is easier to bear than emotional, and it's simpler."

"How long?" Thorin's voice breaks in, low and solemn.

Bilbo tries to meet his eyes, but Thorin is looking away. "How long did I… do that?"

Thorin nods. The dwarves seem to be holding their breath.

Bilbo hesitates. "It's… complicated. After a few months, things got a little better."

* * *

Bilbo stared into his pantry. Definitely empty. How long had it been, anyway? "Maybe it's time to go out," he said aloud, trying out the idea. Either that or actually starve. _That would be as much as you deserve_, whispered a nasty voice. Bilbo frowned and shook it off with effort.

"Alright," he said, "I'm going." And he did, even though it took him an hour to finally open the door and step outside.

* * *

"No one asked too many questions. Most of my extended family didn't live very close by, and my neighbors had given up long ago. So I just sort of slipped back into the routine. I felt better. I cooked, and I went for walks, and I thought I was healing."

* * *

He grew used to loneliness. The emptiness of the smial didn't bother him as much, but he never enjoyed his old hobbies that much either. Life was a dull constant. No ups or downs. Bilbo existed, and that was it.

Some nights his arms throbbed with ghost pains, and other nights he couldn't sleep, thinking about the pocket knife in the bedside drawer. He started listening to the scathing voice in his head. He rarely cried.

One day the ache in his heart was too much, and he had to let it out, relishing the familiar burn that drowned out the other pain. He fell headlong back into his old habit. Then just as suddenly, he stopped for awhile, promising himself – promising the memory of his parents – that he'd stopped for good.

But another day always came when the ache in his heart was too much.

* * *

"It was years. Years of off and on. I'd have good weeks, and bad days, and bad months. I didn't really find anything that helped – just, sometimes I did it, and sometimes I didn't." Bilbo paused to count. "When you all showed up, I'd stopped for almost a year. My best record yet. And I almost broke it, that night. Before the goblins." He noticed Thorin tense, a scowl deepening on his face. At that moment Bilbo couldn't help but remember Thorin's contempt for Bilbo's lack of worldliness.

"I know," Bilbo faltered. "I know this isn't very, well – it's not like you all thought. That I was in a war or something. Nothing so grand, nothing to be proud of." He fell silent, not sure what else to say. Apparently the Company was at a loss as well. The only one who didn't look slightly pale was Bifur, but then he'd put the pieces together awhile ago.

To Bilbo's shock, it was Dwalin who eventually spoke up – the hardened warrior who rarely said a word to Bilbo. He cleared his throat loudly, and Bilbo readied himself for scorn. But instead Dwalin said with surprising eloquence, "Not every battle is fought with axes and swords."

Bilbo considered this for a few long moments. "Thank you," he finally said. "That means a lot to me."

"But – " Bofur broke in, brow furrowed. "I'm stuck on something, Bilbo. After your parents had been gone for awhile – and in the goblin cave – why did you..?"

Bilbo looked from Bofur to Thorin. They both stared back uncomprehendingly. "Well," Bilbo said slowly, "I suppose I thought I rather deserved it."

Silence.

Then the dwarves all found their voices at once.

"No!" Ori gasped, clinging to Dori, who clucked, "Don't say such things, Mr. Baggins!"

"Deserved a wound?" Oin cried incredulously as Gloin sputtered, aghast.

"That's the maddest thing I've ever heard," Dwalin contributed tactfully.

Bofur shook his head frantically. "By Durin's name, lad, that just isn't true!"

"Absolutely unfounded," Thorin growled.

They hushed immediately when Bilbo stood abruptly. "But, you said, and I wasn't," he mumbled, looking from face to face. "I'm not helpful," he tried to explain.

* * *

Maybe he would accidentally tear a page in a book. Or he would forget to buy a certain ingredient at the market. Or he would sit in his chair all day and do nothing. It didn't matter, really. There was always something to criticize. Something that was the last straw in a bad day. Something that would leave him seeking refuge in the only way he knew how anymore.

It didn't exactly go away, the voice. Some days he could ignore it, let it fade into the background again. Sometimes it was just a mild scolding that he'd chuckle in agreement with – "Clumsy Bilbo, I've spilled flour everywhere again!"

Some days it pressed down on his shoulders until Bilbo felt like he was sinking into the ground, too heavy to pass through life or the rest of the afternoon.

And on this quest, the voice had been a constant companion. Bilbo wasn't cut out for adventuring. Not a warrior, not the outdoors type (except for gardening). Isn't that what Thorin had been saying? That he wasn't helpful?

* * *

"This voice in my head tells me everything I'm doing wrong, so much, all the time. And so sometimes I just need to, well, balance the scales a little."

Thorin moved forward and placed his hands on Bilbo's shoulders. "Master Baggins," he said gravely. "Bilbo. I would take back my words in the mountains. You left your home to join us on this quest, and you have gifted us with your courage and your resilience. I owe you my life, and I will do whatever I can to restore your faith in yourself – as we all have faith in you."

The Company took its cue to join in again, and Bilbo started developing whiplash from looking around so quickly.

"It's alright, laddie," Balin said reassuringly, smiling at Bilbo. "It'll be alright."

Ori looked like he was going to cry. "I didn't know, I'm so sorry – "

Nori nudged him. "Don't make it harder on him or yourself. We can be there for him from now on."

Bombur agreed. "We move forward, don't look back!" he enthused, jabbing a hand towards, presumably, the future.

Bewildered at the sudden influx of positivity and the noisy dwarves crowding around, Bilbo didn't see the young brothers rushing over until they were upon him.

Kili hugged Bilbo tightly. "I'll make sure you always have something to eat," he promised.

Fili wrapped an arm around Bilbo and the other around his brother, adding, "And we'll make sure you aren't ever alone."

"Unless you want a break from these rascals, of course," Bofur said, winking at Bilbo. "But you just tell me if you're feeling down, alright? I can sit with you as long as you need."

Bilbo could only nod, blinking rapidly and letting himself be held. _This would be a bad time to panic_, he reminded himself faintly. _There's nothing to panic about_.

Bifur barked out something in Khuzdul, and the Company grudgingly moved back, except Fili and Kili, who stayed firmly attached to Bilbo.

"Need a moment?" Bofur asked.

"A little, ah, overwhelmed," Bilbo admitted. He hesitated before saying to the group, "I really appreciate your support (though to be honest I don't understand it), but – you realize I can't really turn it off? This doesn't fix everything."

Thorin replied in a suitably majestic fashion. "The battle may go on, Master Burglar, but we will fight with you from this day forward." The dwarves cheered, eager for something to be happy about. Bilbo couldn't help but smile, and he held onto the boys a little tighter.

_Well alright then_, Bilbo thought to himself, looking around at this group that had taken his deepest secret in stride. _That went ridiculously better than expected. _

This isn't the end. It's not the beginning. It's a quiet moment in the middle of the battlefield.


End file.
